


Ungentle Memory

by dragonwriter24cmf



Category: Juuni Kokki | Twelve Kingdoms
Genre: Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23144419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonwriter24cmf/pseuds/dragonwriter24cmf
Summary: Every year on the anniversary of Yo-Ou's death, Keiki retreats. After 20 years of watching him, Youko's determined to find out whether it's grief that drives him, or something more. But some secrets hurt to unravel, and some wounds defy easy healing.
Kudos: 20





	Ungentle Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters belong to the creators of Twelve Kingdoms

**Ungentle Memory**

It was nearing that time again. Youko, Empress of Kei, watched her kirin from behind half-closed eyes, and thought.

She, and everyone else in the palace, would have known of the coming anniversary of the previous ruler's death no matter what else was happening. Far too many ministers remembered the previous queen, and her short six-year reign. Most of them had made their peace with her, with her faults and her loss, and were content to mark her passing with a simple offer of incense and a prayer for peace. Youko herself performed that ritual every year, to honor the queen who had left her a kingdom, and whose sacrifice had granted her a throne and bequeathed her a kirin.

Keiki. Of all the palace residents, he felt Yo-Ou's passing, and the anniversary of it, the deepest. Hardly a surprise, given that she had been his first Empress, and given her own life to spare his from the shitsudo. By now, no one in the palace needed to look to a calendar to mark the anniversary of the lost queen. Keiki was the best indicator that it was coming.

It started with a quiet, melancholy brooding, which Keiki had slipped into a few days prior. The kirin was always somber, and relatively silent, but these days the silence hung over him like a shroud. He rarely showed much expression, but when this time came around, not even her best efforts could draw a smile from him, and pain shadowed his gaze like an unshakeable cloud. Even Shoukei and Suzu had noticed the dark aura that hung about him in the days before the anniversary of Yo-Ou's death.

And it would only get worse, progressing to monosyllable answers and a short temper, then a total withdrawal from everyone around him, including Youko. He had told her once that no kirin liked being separated from his monarch, and he certainly seemed ashamed and apologetic enough about it later, but she knew well that he would be unreachable, there only in name and physical presence, by the time they approached the 48 hour mark, two days before the anniversary.

Keiki always barricaded himself in his room on the actual date. He refused to emerge, or to permit even his usual servants entry. She'd tried, the first few times, to either coax him out or get him to let someone, her or anyone else, in but he'd not only refused, he hadn't even answered her. Not even the one year that she'd gotten frustrated and worried enough to try and order him out. Half the palace had been witness to her shouting at his door, and Enho had finally dragged her away, but she'd never heard a word from Keiki.

Keiki shifted, and Youko transferred her attention to the minister who was speaking. Koukan, giving a report on the things the Council needed to handle for the next few sessions. He usually gave her a list every few days, planning ahead so she would have time to organize her thoughts on the matters that needed to be reviewed, and sort out what questions she wanted to ask, what points she needed to cover. It helped her confidence, and it made things run much more smoothly. She noticed that it was a longer list than usual. Then the minister's eyes caught hers, flashed for a moment to the kirin and back, and she realized that he knew her attention had wandered, and where. Knew and understood, and probably shared her worries. Since his coming to the Palace and his ascension to Council Leader, he and Keiki had become friends, along with Enho. She gave him a slight nod, and resolved to speak to him later that evening.

The Council finished only slightly past it's usual time. Keiki accompanied her back to the offices and they worked for a while, taking breaks for meals. Keiki, usually attentive to every move she made and every glance she gave him, didn't say more than five words to her the whole afternoon. It was almost a relief when he left in the evening to attend to his duties for Ei Province.

He hadn't been gone ten minutes before a knock sounded, and the door opened to admit Koukan and Enho. Both men bowed respectfully, and she returned a nod and motioned them both to a seat. “Good evening.”

Koukan nodded. “Shu-jou...I hope we aren't intruding.” He knew she wouldn't have welcomed them if they were, or at least not so politely, but he and Enho both insisted on proper courtesies.

“Not at all. I was planning to send for both of you anyway.” Youko planted her elbows on her desk, laced her fingers together, and leaned forward to lightly support her chin with her hands. “I suspect we all share the same concern at the moment.”

“The Taiho.” Enho nodded, and Youko sighed in agreement. “It is almost the anniversary of Yo-Ou's death once more.”

“It is.” Youko sighed again. “This is...what, 21? 22 years?” She stared at her interlaced fingers. “Over two decades, at least, and he hasn't seemed to recover at all.”

“Grief can be a terrible thing, and the bond between a kirin and his empress is a powerful one.” Enho's voice was gentle, taking away the sting such an admonishment could have delivered. “I do not doubt that Kei-Taiho loves and cherishes you, Shu-jou, with every breath he takes, and you should not doubt that he values you above all other things. But even so...some pains run too deep to be released easily.”

“I know. I understand that. But...he won't even talk to me.” Youko leaned her forehead against her hands. “I try to be there for him, but it's like there's a wall between us, one he won't let me breach. I...these past years, I've tried to give him his space, but it doesn't seem to have helped. And I've tried asking him about it afterward, but he avoids the subject. All he does apologize for burdening me and look at me with those sad eyes of his. No matter how gently or forcefully I speak to him, he won't discuss it with me.”

“This is a very personal matter for the Taiho. Perhaps, given that it involves his previous monarch, he is simply unwilling to discuss it with you because he does not want to upset you by accidentally making you feel unhappy about your predecessor.” Koukan looked thoughtful. “Your Majesty does tend to worry about how you are perceived, particularly in comparison to others, and to past rulers. You've gotten much less tense on this matter, but perhaps he fears that bringing it up will cause you unneeded worry.” Enho nodded.

Youko considered, then shook her head. “I...I always knew I would have difficulty with that. After I came back from that first journey, after the rebellion in Wa Province, we talked about it. Actually, we discussed it a bit before I left. He said he was relieved to hear that I was capable of seeing my own troubles, and taking steps to manage them before they consumed me, even if it meant being a little selfish sometimes. Yo-Ou was unable to do such things, and he had feared that I would make the same mistake, and that he wouldn't know how to help me find my way.”

“And you have spoken about it since then?”

“We have. Keiki...he admitted that sometimes his memories cloud his vision. Especially in my sixth year.” That had been a tense year for all of them, memories thick in the air. His response to that anniversary of Yo-Ou's death had been the worst she remembered. But then, he'd spent the entire year walking on eggshells around her, flinching every time she became tired or frustrated and happened to complain to him. The seventh anniversary of her ascension to the throne had been a relief to all of them. After that, they'd talked, and she'd at least been able to lay a kind hand on his arm without him reacting as though she'd struck him.

“I see. Then have you considered that this is simply a more persistent form of that same problem?” Enho's voice was considerate, gentle.

“I have. But it...I don't know. My practical mind says that I should just leave him be. But my instincts and my heart say that there is something more to be done, that there is something I don't understand, and that I should. After all, my kirin is my other half.” Youko rose and moved to the window. After twenty years, she had developed something of a sensitivity to her kirin. Something inside her ached at his absence, and she found herself searching the night sky for the flash of star-touched gold that would herald his return. “I understand that he is his own person as well, and that I don't need to know everything, but something as serious as this...it feels as if I should do more for him. That I should at least understand better than I do.” She clenched her hands on the window sill. “When I...I even consulted the Suuguito a few times.”

“And what did it show you?” Enho sounded concerned for her now.

She stared down at her hands, remembering the visions in the water sword. “His death. Or, at least, his illness from the shitsudo. I haven't told him I saw such things, and I'd prefer he didn't know.”

“Perhaps...” Koukan's voice was thoughtful, and Youko turned to face him. The lord of Baku province was frowning slightly as he put his thoughts into words. “The shitsudo is said to be extremely painful to kirin.”

“Yes. I saw it once, with Kourin. It looked...agonizing.” Youko swallowed against the memory of the Kou kirin's tortured face.

Koukan nodded. “Very few kirin survive the shitsudo. Keiki is in fact the only one I've heard of. We don't know how surviving such a painful thing might effect someone. Also...to have such a deep bond as normally exists between a kirin and a ruler, and to have it severed...this must also be extremely painful.”

Youko nodded. She still grieved, at times, for the loss of her parents, the loss of Sugimoto and her classmates and teachers and everything she had left behind. And she hadn't truly been all that attached to them. She knew it would be devastating, were she to lose any of her current trusted advisers. Shoukei or Suzu, Enho or Koukan or Sekki. Or Kantai. And she couldn't imagine what it would feel like, to lose someone as precious as Keiki, or Rakushun, her dearest friend. The thought of it made her stomach churn.

“I see you have some understanding of what Koukan refers to.” Enho broke her thoughts.

“Some.” Youko looked back out the window. “I have never had such a precious bond severed, but I...I saw what Kourin did, what Kou-ou did, when those bonds were shattered. And I have had my own share of losses, enough to know how painful they can be. I know what I felt when I lost Asano, and how I would feel if I lost any of you.” Her head bowed. “But...in such a case...suffering such grief alone...it seems unbearable to me.” Her fist clenched.

“That is quite true. However, you and Kei-Taiho may be very different in this regard. Also...perhaps such grief is too painful to be seen. Or perhaps...it is not his grief he fears for you to witness, but his memories.”

“His memories?” Youko looked up, startled.

“Indeed.” Enho rose and joined her at the window. “Tell me, would you wish to share with me the memories that pain you, of your time in Hourai?”

“I...I have shared some of them.” Youko looked away.

Enho considered a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was slow and heavy with regret and pain. “I'm sure that Your Majesty knows, that this is not the first time I have been a servant and adviser to a ruler.”

“I...yes. But you left the Palace.”

“I did. Because my emperor changed, and lost his way. And once that had happened, I could no longer stand to remain in this place. So I left and became a teacher in the country, passing my wisdom to the people.” Enho paused. “The centuries have passed, and I find the memories are no longer so painful. But those first years...it hurt a great deal. The year after I left the Palace, I was sometimes so overcome with grief that I was even ill, for a time.”

Youko's eyes widened. “I see.” She looked away from the elder. “That sounds like something Suzu told me about Asano. She said he had times where he would lose touch with who they were, it seemed, where he would scream and run and cry out. That he said at times he could not tell what was his nightmare, and what was reality.”

Enho nodded, his gaze fixed on the stars. “Indeed. The kirin are creatures of mercy, and compassion, and great devotion. I would not be surprised, if such a being were to feel such memories even more deeply than the rest of us do. And Keiki does not have the option of leaving the Palace, or leaving you. He cannot roam the countryside to find his peace, as I did. Nor turn to others who share his sorrow, as you do.”

Youko nodded her understanding. “He had a year, after Yo-Ou died, but even that...he was searching for me, because it is the kirin's duty to protect the kingdom by choosing the ruler.” She stared at her hands, resting on the window ledge. “Enho, do you think Keiki hides in his rooms and does not answer the door because the memories make him ill, as blood does?”

“I do not know. But I would not think it impossible.” Enho's voice was gentle with compassion, and she knew he shared her sorrow for Keiki, for what he might suffer if that was the case. “However, the only way you could answer that, Shu-jou, would be to find a way past his doors.”

“I know.” Youko swallowed. “I...I had thought of it before. The truth is, at first, I was simply angry at him for deserting me. But now...I would wish to be by his side, if it is possible. I want...to help him, or at least understand him better.”

There was a rustling of cloth, then Koukan joined them. “If that is what you wish, Shu-jou, then we will assist you. You have only to tell us how you wish to handle the matter.”

“Thank you.” Youko sighed and leaned against the window, watching the night sky, and thought, her mind turning over the possible solutions to the problem while her advisers silently watched over her.

*****UM*****

The next few days seemed to crawl past. Youko did her work, watching in concern as Keiki slipped ever further into the dark pall that shrouded him. She'd worked out a plan to try and reach him, but she wasn't sure it would work, and knew it would be an intrusion on his carefully guarded privacy. She tried, as the days wore on, to reach him, to provoke some change in his demeanor, even if it was only frustration at her persistence. But Keiki only avoided her questions, and ignored or dodged her concerns. Finally, three days before the anniversary, she gave it up and resolved to put her plan into motion.

The next day, she announced to the court that she was instituting a half-day holiday on the anniversary of Yo-Ou's death. Her excuse was that it gave her time to reflect, and to gauge the feelings of the citizens, and that she was merely making it official practice. She encouraged all the ministers to make whatever gestures they felt appropriate, and urged them to consider their own concerns, that they might bring them before her the day after. There was some uneasy stirring, but it was generally agreed that a day of respect for the past ruler wasn't such a bad thing. It was a mark of the depression he had sunk into that Keiki hardly even remonstrated her. He made one feeble attempt to question her decision, but dropped it after she told him it was 'simply something she felt should be done'. That he accepted such reasoning, and didn't question why she would enact such a ritual now, after 20 years, worried her. It wasn't like him, and it was yet another indicator of how stressed and troubled he was.

She enlisted Koukan and Enho's help to get the council work taken care of, and to give the impression that she was consulting with them, her teachers and advisers, discussing her concerns with them. Suzu and Shoukei were brought into her confidence, and asked to make sure that no one disturbed her. Both girls were experts at distractions, excuses, and where needed, simple overwhelming bluffs. Both of them were fond of the kirin, in their own way. They understood her concerns, and agreed without hesitation. They even enlisted the help of her handmaidens, Gyokuyou among them, to add realism to the charade. Youko felt a little embarrassed, taking such elaborate precautions when she didn't even intend to leave the palace, but she didn't know what was going to happen between herself and Keiki and, whether she succeeded in reaching him or not, she didn't want to be disturbed. Particularly not if he were truly suffering.

The morning assembly on the day of Yo-Ou's death dragged by. Youko tried to keep her mind on the matters at hand, but she was all too aware of the empty space beside her throne, the place where Keiki was meant to stand. It was a relief when Koukan suggested the session be closed, and she was able to leave. 

She took a moment to change into less formal clothing, and to ask Shoukei and Suzu to go to Enho and Koukan, then went to Keiki's door. As expected, it was firmly shut and locked, and her knocks and inquiries were met with silence. She sighed, then looked to the shadows at her feet. “Hankyo.”

Shadow rippled, and the head of Keiki's shirei drifted upward through the floor. “Shu-jou.”

She'd discovered she got along best with Hankyo, of all Keiki's shirei, though she did like the others. After the Wa rebellion Keiki had asked that she accept a shirei as her guard when she left the palace, and Hankyo had been her choice. The shirei was, for a youma, a rather thoughtful creature, diligent, and oddly enough, possessed of a dry sense of humor that could occasionally be used to jolt his kirin into a different mood.

She smiled at him. “Hankyo...I have a request.” She bent, whispering on the off chance that Keiki did, in fact, listen to voices at his door, whether he answered or not. “Can you get me into Keiki's rooms, please?”

Hankyo looked troubled. “The Taiho has asked not to be disturbed.”

“I know. But I am worried about him.” She reached out to brush the top of the shirei's head in a rare gesture of affection. “If you can tell me that he is truly all right, then I will leave him in peace.”

Hankyo shifted. “Kaiko tends to him.” She could sense his unease despite his calm tone, and it strengthened her suspicions.

“I'm sure she does. However...that does not mean he is all right.”

Something like a sigh emanated from the shirei. “He is not.”

“Then I should go to him. After all, he is my other half. And I do not wish to leave him to suffer. Even if I cannot help him, he should not be alone.”

“We are with him.” Another growl-like sigh. “But it may be...” Hankyo slid into view fully, then crouched before her. “Come Shu-jou. I will take you.”

Youko nodded and mounted the shirei. With a bound, Hankyo made his way to the nearest balcony, then out into open sky. Within seconds, he had circled and landed again, this time coming to rest on the balcony outside Keiki's window. “The doors to the Taiho's rooms are sealed. Please wait here, Shu-jou.”

Youko nodded, then watched as the shirei melted into shadow. Seconds later, he reappeared on the other side of the glass. Agile paws and teeth caught hold of the latch and, after a few moments of work, nudged the window open enough to permit her entry. Youko winced, wondering what she would tell Keiki about the damage to his window, then let it go. She had more important things to worry about. She stepped inside and shut the window behind her, then looked at the shirei who had mostly submerged himself in the floor again. “Where?”

“The bedroom.” She nodded, and Hankyo disappeared.

Experience had taught her how to move quietly. She made good use of it, her footsteps soundless as she crossed the floor to his bedchamber door and eased it open, trying to avoid the creaking of the hinges. She eased it open just enough to slide her slender frame through, then slipped inside and shut it behind her.

Keiki lay in the ornate four poster across the room. He didn't even stir at her entry, though his Nyoukai, Kaiko, looked up. “Shu-jou.”

Youko put her finger to her lips, then came over to stand beside the bed. Her heart twisted in sympathy.

Keiki lay upon the bed, his face twisted in a pained grimace that she'd last seen when they'd returned to the rike after Kei-kei had been shot. Sweat beaded on his pale brow, and the state of the bed linens and his sleep robe hinted at a restless, pain-filled sleep. Even as she watched, his head tossed, brow creasing. His hands were fists in the sheets, trembling with whatever caused him such discomfort.

Kaiko regarded her a moment, then reached out to brush her hand across his forehead. Keiki shuddered as a pained murmur crossed his lips. “Shu-jou...”

Youko watched her kirin a moment, her heart aching, then turned to the Nyoukai. “Would you please...bring me some water?” She half-hoped that Keiki would wake to her voice as he usually did, but there was no response. “And a clean towel?”

The Nyoukai nodded and disappeared into the bathing room, to return moments later with a basin of cool water and cloth. Youko took both with a nod of thanks, and Kaiko stepped back.

Youko set the basin on the floor as she knelt, then soaked the cloth and wrung it out. On the bed, Keiki shivered again, hands clenching in the linens. Youko twisted the cloth one final time, then reached out and began to wipe the sweat from her kirin's face with soft, gentle strokes.

Keiki moaned at the contact, but his trembling quieted, as if the cloth soothed him. Youko glanced at Kaiko, knowing the Nyoukai was better at gauging Keiki's condition than she, and Kaiko nodded, urging her to continue. Youko smiled in thanks, then returned to her task, bathing Keiki's face, hands and throat, what was exposed by his robe, in the cool water. When she'd finished, she set the cloth and basin to the side and rocked back on her heels, trying to decide what to do next. If he'd been human, she'd have laid a cool cloth over his forehead, to ease him, but she knew that kirin hated to have their brow touched, or the place where their horn belonged covered. Keiki was particularly sensitive to it, after Kourin had sealed him into his beast form. He permitted her, sometimes, but she didn't think it was a wise idea in his current state.

Keiki's expression twisted again, anguish etched into his features. “Shu-jou...Shu-jou...” His voice cracked, hands clenching in torment. Unable to think of anything else, Youko put her hand over his, caressing the back of his clenched fist. Keiki shuddered at her touch, his whole body wracked with shaking as he trembled. “Shu-jou...please...” He flinched as if in pain.

Youko felt her heart breaking. She'd only ever heard Keiki use this tone with her once, only seen the serenity of his usual expression crack to reveal such pain once before, during her first year as Empress. Then, she had been frustrated, angry at how she felt as if she were being manipulated and unhappy at her own lack of comprehension. She had lashed out at him verbally, actually grabbed his robes to shake him, or throttle him. He'd looked horrified, and cried out her title as if she'd burned him. She'd been too upset to reign herself in, but she had recovered enough sense to send him away before she could hurt him further, or get any angrier with him.

He'd later admitted that it had shocked him, not just the intensity of her anger, but the gesture itself. He'd also told her then that Yo-Ou had gone into rages like that frequently near the end of her reign, that the way she'd grabbed him was exactly how the former empress had responded when she became angry and flew into one of her jealous tirades. That she had done the same thing had both shocked and terrified him.

That had been what had gotten her contemplating leaving the palace. A few nights later, when she'd realized she was holding him at sword-point, and that he wasn't stopping her, hadn't even called his shirei to protect him...that was when she'd known she had to leave, before she truly hurt him. Whether it was by shitsudo or by her own hand, she was coming far too close to breaking him, and herself.

She hadn't known what the correct path was, what she needed, but she had known it wasn't a path where her own kirin stared at her with such a frightened and tortured expression.

Keiki moaned again, forcing her thoughts back to the present. She started to release his hand, afraid of tormenting him further, but Kaiko stopped her, holding her hand across Keiki's in a gentle grip. “It will help him.”

“It feels as if I am causing more pain.” She swallowed.

“It is painful for him to be touched. But it would be worse if you let go of him now.” There was no doubt in the Nyoukai's voice.

Youko bit her lip, then settled into a slightly more comfortable position at the bedside. “Does he...is it Yo-Ou he dreams of? Or me?”

Kaiko's voice was sad. “The Taiho does not dream. Every year, he remembers his former master. He...his body and his spirit remember the shitsudo, and the breaking of their bond.”

Youko's eyes widened. “Body...and spirit? Is he...suffering that pain again?”

“It is not the same, but it is close. Your presence will help him. So close, his contract with you will ease some of his pain.”

“I see.” Youko looked back into Keiki's face, so open and vulnerable and filled with anguish. “Why have I never been permitted to come here before, then? I would have gladly helped him bear this burden.”

“Because the Taiho does not wish to be seen in such a state.”

She was reminded of when she and Keiki had been reunited after her arrival and alliance to En. She had asked him to assume human form, and he had told her he did not wish to serve her while naked.

This...was far more revealing than any lack of a robe could ever have been. Stoic that he was, if baring his physical body was difficult, then baring his heart was sure to be a thousand times more so. Especially like this, when the wounds of the past were open and bleeding.

She threaded her fingers through his, holding his hand, then bowed her head over their joined fists. “I am sorry, Keiki. When you can see me again, I will apologize properly to you.” Whether she meant to apologize for intruding on such a personal, private agony, or for the fact that she hadn't done it years ago, she wasn't sure.

Keiki moaned again, desperate pain in his voice. “Shu-jou...please...do not...you must not leave...Shu-jou...do not...” It hurt to hear him begging, crying out in that broken voice.

“I will not, Keiki. I will not leave your side.” She wondered if he could hear her, if it would help. She didn't know, but it was all she could do.

“Shu-jou...” He moaned, writhing in a pain that only he could feel, in the remembered throes of his torment. Youko bit her lip as tears spilled down her cheeks, and held his hand more tightly.

Finally, Keiki calmed, his expression still a mask of anguish, silent tears trickling over his temple. “Shu-jou...” The word was a cracked whisper, so lost and aching that Youko had to turn away from him for a moment to collect herself.

She wiped her eyes, then applied the cool rag to her face, taking deep breaths to calm herself. Her heart ached for Keiki, but she knew that he didn't need her tears, not right now.

She turned back to find that Kaiko had brought her a chair. She settled into it, and the Nyoukai held the water basin while she wiped away the tears on her kirin's face. That done, she took his hand again, lacing her fingers through his. “Keiki. I'm here.”

She couldn't tell if he heard her, but some of the agony left his face. He still looked pained and troubled, but slightly less tortured. Youko exhaled in relief, then shifted into a slightly more comfortable position at his side.

Youko stayed with Keiki for the remainder of the day, and the night. She roused at dusk to send Hankyo to the others with a message that she was staying with Keiki, and to leave them alone. She sent an additional message to Koukan, telling him to explain her absence to the other Councilors in the morning, however he thought best. Hankyo returned with a reply that they would do their best, and a container bearing food for her. She ate it in an absent minded fashion, one-handed, as she watched over Keiki.

Keiki remained restless, sometimes crying out or groaning throughout the day. Youko bathed his face, wiped away his tears, and held his hand gently. She wondered what memories he carried, what it was that tormented him so. She also knew she didn't wish to ask him. Watching his trembling and silent weeping, and the way he clenched onto her hand like a lifeline, was difficult enough. She didn't think she could bear to force such suffering on him again, or to see his face if she demanded answers of him.

As night wore on, Keiki seemed to settle. He relaxed, the lines of tension and anguish smoothing out of his countenance. His hand relaxed around hers, his breathing deepening into a more restful pattern.

He'd been quiet for about an hour when Kaiko appeared out of the shadows. Youko jumped, then eased back in her seat as the Nyoukai straightened Keiki's blankets over her master and adjusted his position on the pillows into a more comfortable one. “The Taiho will sleep now.”

Youko nodded and released his hand. There were faint bruises where Keiki had held her, and her fingers felt sore, but she knew it would fade fast. And if it had eased Keiki's mind, even a little, then it had been worth it. “Do I need to leave?” She knew Keiki was a very private individual, but she felt protective of him, concerned that leaving might make him vulnerable to nightmares.

“You may do so if you wish, Shu-jou.” Kaiko's voice was neutral in tone.

Youko glanced back at her sleeping kirin. “What I wish to do is what is best for Keiki.”

Kaiko nodded. “The Taiho will rest better for your presence as he recovers. But he would be angry if you were to make yourself uncomfortable or ill.”

Youko smiled. “He would. But I don't wish to leave him just yet, not if my presence will help. Instead, I would like you to bring me a blanket.” The clothes she wore were perfectly comfortable for sleeping in, but a blanket would be warmer and comforting.

“Yes, Shu-jou.” Kaiko vanished and returned moments later with a blanket from her chambers. “Your maid says to be sure to return to your apartments before you go anywhere else, so she can make sure everything is well.”

“Of course.” Youko wrapped the blanket around herself, then curled up in the chair until she could rest her chin on her knees. Kaiko disappeared once more. Youko sat, watching over Keiki, until the gentle rhythm of his breathing lulled her to sleep as well.

She woke to an awareness of sunlight coming in over her shoulder, and the feeling of someone watching her. She blinked a few times, aware of the stiffness in her limbs from sitting curled up all night, then raised her head.

Keiki was sitting upright in his bed, eyes focused on her, discomfort and concern visible on his features.

Youko felt herself flushing. She hadn't thought what she would do, or say to him, when he awoke. Of course, she hadn't expected to fall asleep either.

Keiki watched as she stood and stretched, then spoke. “Shu-jou...”

“My apologies, Keiki. I didn't mean to fall asleep.” She sighed and turned to face him. There was an unspoken question in his eyes, and she answered it. “I was concerned about you, so I ordered Hankyo to let me in.”

It was Keiki's turn to look away. “I did not mean to concern you.”

“I know. But I worry about you every year.” After what she'd witnessed she knew he hadn't ignored her, all those times she'd pounded fruitlessly at his door. He had been far too trapped inside his own pain to hear her voice. “I just...I thought this year I might do something about it.”

“Shu-jou...I...” His voice was hesitant, ashamed, as it always was the days after the anniversary.

“I know. Kaiko told me. You didn't want me to see you like this.” She sighed and settled back into the chair, one knee pulled up so she could prop an elbow on it, fingers toying with her hair. “And I apologize for invading your privacy, Keiki. But still...I'm not sorry I came.”

An awkward silence fell between them for the space of several moments, then Youko voiced the question that had occurred to her hours before, holding his hand in the darkness. “Kaiko said you remember it, body and spirit. The pain and the memory, does it only come on the actual day, or does it start earlier? Is that why you withdraw? Or is it just that you fear it's coming, because you've always been alone to endure this?”

Keiki's voice was hollow, flat and emotionless in the way it got when he was on edge and trying to control himself. “When Yo-Ou...” His voice faltered. “I was stricken with the shitsudo four days before she renounced the throne.” His voice cracked again and he fell silent.

“Do you suffer those four days as well?” Keiki didn't respond, but she saw his hands curl in the sheets over his lap, and knew the answer. “I wish you had told me.” She kept her voice neutral, though her heart ached for him, for what he endured each year.

“I did not wish to concern you.” But he relaxed somewhat. “It is not...not like the true shitsudo. More like blood sickness.”

“Still...” She sighed, knowing it would do no good to chide him. She rose from her seat, stretching again. “I wish you had told me a long time ago, but I understand why you didn't.” She shook her head, looking out his window, though she watched him from the corner of her eye. “Honestly...” She hesitated, then spoke in a quieter tone. “I...Kaiko told me I should stay, that it would ease your pain and your grief.”

Keiki flexed his hand, some of the tension leaving his face. “I felt your presence.” He looked up at her. “Shu-jou...you were here...all night?”

She shrugged. “It wasn't as if I'd anything else more important to do. Besides, Kaiko said you would sleep easier, if I remained. I thought it might be true, because you've told me that kirins prefer to be near their masters.”

“Yes.” Keiki's gaze flitted to the window, the angle of the light coming through. “Shu-jou...you are late for the morning assembly.”

“I know. I told Koukan to give the other ministers some excuse, and discuss things among themselves for today. He said it would be all right. I think he and Enho have some plan to turn this into a regular event, so I can be absent next year without upsetting too many people.”

“You have responsibilities.” There was the faintest note of disapproval in his voice.

“I do. And one of them is to see to the welfare of my people. All of them, including you.” She turned her head so she could look at him. “To leave one person suffering, simply because it is expedient, when there is a solution, that isn't something I am comfortable with. Besides...you are my kirin, my other half, are you not?” She offered him a sad smile. “If my other half is suffering, how can I myself be whole and well? How could I expect to understand people's joys and sorrows, if I am willing to overlook the pain of my most important adviser?”

Keiki looked away, his expression uncomfortable. Youko sighed. “If it makes you feel better, I can send a servant to collect the reports from yesterday, and the business that needs to be handled, as well as your work for Ei Province. We can go over it, so you know what you missed.”

“That would be wise.” The last of the tension drained from Keiki's face. “Shu-jou...you should dress. And rest.”

Youko nodded. “Gyokuyou said for me to return to her, before I went anywhere else. I suppose working with you does not have to be anywhere else, but...you probably prefer to be in your sitting room at least. Or your office.”

“It is proper.” Keiki shifted as if he would get up, then stilled, most likely realizing that he was still clad in his night robes. Youko stifled a laugh, knowing how uncomfortable he was with being anything less than completely dressed in her presence. “Shu-jou...”

“All right. I will go dress and change, and send someone for the reports and breakfast. Then I will meet you in our private office, in the pavilion. In an hour.” An hour would give her plenty of time to get into her plain working robes, and Keiki, she knew, was an expert at dressing quickly. It was a natural trait of all those who shifted between forms.

“Very well.” Keiki bowed his head in acknowledgment. Kaiko emerged from the shadows, a towel for the bath already folded across her arms. Youko took the hint and made her way to the door. But as her fingers touched the handle, she stopped.

Keiki looked and sounded better, but she could still remember the lost desperation and pain he had voiced the day before, the torment he had revealed. The anguish he still suffered over the loss of his previous ruler. There was little, if anything she do about it, save be by his side and comfort him, as much as he would allow. Still... “Keiki.”

“Shu-jou?” There was a question in his voice.

Youko paused, then spoke in a firm controlled tone. “I need to go wash and change. However, Keiki...” She paused, then finished. “I will not leave you. Not if it is in my power to prevent it. And if I must leave, then I will return to you, as fast as I can. I promise.” She would have liked to swear something more definitive, but she knew that circumstances like rebellions, or shokus, or any number of things, could happen. She didn't want to break his heart, or hers, by breaking such an important vow.

There was a long silence. Then, Keiki's quiet voice echoed over her shoulder. “Thank you, Shu-jou.”

Youko smiled. “You're welcome, Keiki.” Then she slipped out the door and closed it gently behind her.

It would take time, she knew, for Keiki's wounds to heal. Decades, even centuries. Perhaps never. Such memories, like her own memories of Japan, and her first months traveling in Kou, and Asano's death, were cruel and painful, and left scars on the spirit. And yet, together...

Together, they would find a way to heal.

**Author's Note:**

> This just sort of popped into my head one day, on the anniversary of my grandmother's passing.


End file.
